Page 37 of Wanting Mr Black

“Not sure. Why do you ask?”

“He doesn’t look like a bloke who just got married.” He turns to me. His bloodshot eyes narrow slightly as he leers at me. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours then?”

I’m not going to stand here and be subjected to another woeful attempt at flirting.

I shoot him a wary look and walk up to the bar, where Olly is clearing up empties from off the countertop. I hope he isn’t going to blank me again because I really need a stiff drink. Today has been a disaster.

“Two shots of sambuca and a glass of rosé, please.”

Olly flashes me a smile and starts to pour the drinks. “Listen, I’m sorry about being weird with you.”

“It’s okay.”

He slides the shot glasses towards me. “I was just a bit surprised when I heard that you and Art …”

Olly’s had a soft spot for me forever, and within five minutes of Art showing up, I’ve moved in with him.

“It’s fine. I understand.” I knock back the first shot glass in one, wincing as the aniseed kick hits the back of my throat. I pick up the other one and down it.

Olly raises an eyebrow as he places a glass of rosé on the bar and removes the empties. “I didn’t realise they were all for you. Are you trying to get drunk?”

I cast a glance over my shoulder towards the “happy couple,” who are putting on a very convincing display on the dance floor for the benefit of their guests. “It’s been a full-on day.”

“Then, they’re on the house.”

“Olly …” I begin, but he waves a hand in protest.

“No, I insist. It’s my way of saying sorry for acting like a dickhead. Are we all right now then?”

“Yes, we’re okay.” I smile gratefully and take a sip of wine. “Thanks.”

“Do you want another drink?” Toby appears to my left.

Why won’t he get the message?

“No, thanks. I’m good,” I reply stiffly.

“Oh, come on. Let me buy you one.” Toby slings an arm around my waist and squeezes my hip bone hard with hisfingers. “That Rottweiler boyfriend of yours has fucked off, so you and I can have some fun.”

Uneasiness claws at me, and I wriggle out of his grasp. “Why don’t you piss off?”

For a split second, I see Olly staring at me with wide eyes, and when I look back to my left, Toby has vanished.

Maybe he got the message after all.

I pick up my glass of wine, and I’m about to take a sip when I’m distracted by a scuffling noise coming from behind me. I twist round to see Art with Toby in a choke hold, dragging him kicking outside.

Shit!

“Art!”

I slam my glass down on the bar and rush after them, but by the time I get outside, Toby is already sprawled on his backside, cupping his nose with both hands.

“I told you to keep your fucking hands off her,” Art shouts, prowling across the gravel between me and Toby like a predatory tiger. “You’re barred.”

Toby manages to climb to his feet and straightens his crumpled jacket. “You’re a bloody lunatic. You can’t bar me.”

I say a silent prayer that the guests are still preoccupied with the first dance and are missing this unpleasant scene.

---